When Scholar descended out of the tearing night he choked like an
asthmatical man. It was not now a smell as of fresh cattle that filled
the cattlemen's safe, called cabin; it was a suffocating smell as of
ammonia. Somebody was singing in the cabin that rose and fell with
steely and wooden screams, and with whispers of the sea running round
it, the tremendous sea that swirled and broke and sprayed on the other
side of the thin iron plates. The tobacco smoke was perhaps not quite
so thick to-night, for tobacco was growing scarce; but there were still
plenty of pipes a-going for blue clouds to temper the callous glare of
the electric light.
Scholar slipped into the cabin, feeling for a moment almost shy. He
had learned how to come into the cabin when it was a kind of bedlam;
but to come into it now, and find it a kind of temperance sing-song
hall for poor seamen, with several of the poor seamen glancing at him
in a way that suggested their thought was: "Ah! we'll ask him to sing
next!" was a little upsetting. He tried to efface himself in his bunk.
The applause following a heartrending solo about "For the flag he gave
his young life!" had just ended.
"Charles will give us a solo upon the mouth organ," said someone.
Charles looked bashful; it was one thing to play the mouth organ on the
dock front while the others double-shuffled (or, for that matter, to
play it on an ordinary evening when the ordinary life was going on,
some listening, others talking, voices roaring: "You're a liar!" others
bellowing: "Shut up!") but quite another to have everybody quiet even
before he began to play. Charles screamed that he was "fed up with the
thing!" and very likely felt a qualm in his heart so soon as the words
left his lips, for he was not at all "fed up" with his mouth organ; he
was very keen on it.
Many coaxed him, and one-eyed Michael said: "Well, never mind if you
don't want to play. Don't worry the young fellow if he doesn't feel
inclined. Jimmy there will play."
Jimmy had been shouting: "Go on, Charlie!" For a moment he was like a
sailing ship taken aback, but he plucked up courage, and accepting the
instrument that Charles handed to him, wiped it with his sleeve and
began to play. Some rose and tried to dance, but did not find dancing
easy, for the gale was rising, and the stern rose and swung and fell
and leapt up. They danced, collided, and fell, danced again, and the
onlookers whooped with amusement, or smiled with mild disdain and pity;
and the mouth organ warbled, while the sea echoed and whispered round.
Candlass, appearing unexpectedly with a lamp, brought the man with the
mouth organ to a stop, and the dancers reeled to their bunks, where
they sat down laughing.
"Mike!" said Candlass. "Oh, you're there, Mike. Bring two or three of
the men forward with you."
Mike slipped over his bunk side; three or four others rolled out of
their own accord, the Inquisitive One among them, for though it must be
a call to work of some kind, and he was not eager for extra work, he
simply must know what was afoot.
"That will do," said Candlass. "I just want you to come along here and
see to some of these ropes before you turn in."
Away they went along the reeking decks. The cattle were not in a bad
plight at all; they had their four legs to stand upon, and propped each
other as well. It was those upon the lee side that gave most concern
to Candlass now. He carried the lamp high, casting weird shadows, and
directing the men in the slacking of a rope here, the hauling up of one
yonder. There was no doubt that the gale was rising; sailors were
battening down a hatch overhead, and their voices, as they hailed each
other before they got the whole hatch covered, shutting out the night,
came down broken and blown. Seas came over the decks, smacking like
the flat of a great hand, and rushed past. Now that the hatches were
battened down there was a kind of confined feeling--the long deck
above, and the steer-packed deck below, converged in the perspective,
and gave a feeling as of being buried alive in a monstrous box full of
a dance of weird lights and shadows.
Their work over, Candlass said: "That'll do, men. I'd better have a
man or two up to-night, along with the watchman."
"All right," answered Mike, looking forward to the variety.
"No, no--not you," said Candlass. "You fellows can go back."
Away they went along the choking decks, one or another pausing now and
then to scratch, with closed fists--fingers being useless to the big
beasts--some head that thrust forward inviting. Others, when a head
leant out determinedly, smote at it to make way--but most, by this
time, had desisted from such methods, and were more inclined to make
friends with the steers. They met Rafferty as they were on their way
back.
"Where's Candlass?" he asked them.
"He's behind."
"Oh, he's behind, is he? Are you fellows going to have another man or
two up with the watchman?"
"I was just talking about it," came Candlass's voice, he walking aft in
the rear; "but I guess I'll stop up myself."
"All right," said Rafferty. "I'll relieve you then, if you tell me
when."
They passed on to the cabin, Candlass following to thrust his head in
and look sharply till silence fell.
"You fellows," he said, "if I come and call on you to-night, turn out
lively."
"All right, boss," several shouted, but Candlass had already turned
away.
All were soon asleep; but, as it happened, there was no night call. On
a night like this, even if the bosses had not been about on the decks,
the little trick of loosening some steers in distaste for the
night-watchman or for Rafferty would have been allowed to lapse. All
slept, or at least all were silent; for perhaps here and there, in a
bunk, someone lay staring at the electric lights that were never put
out, and could not be put out, there being no switch in the cabin, lay
staring and wondering at the whole business, the deep breathing, the
occasional sighs, the place ringing to the blows of the sea, and
echoing, as though someone whispered to the sweep of the spray without;
the whirl of the driving propeller going on and on, as if for ever,
under foot.
They thought at first, when they were called, that it was a night call,
woke gasping in the reek of ammonia, to find Candlass going his rounds
along a sloping deck, the _Glory_ now having a tremendous list on,
never swinging up to a level, but rolling all the time from the degrees
of that list to a slope comparable with that of a church steeple, an
almost anxious slope, then back up again, and pitching, too. The men
who were already wakened began to shout: "Tumble up! Tumble up!" even
before Rafferty appeared; and there was little need for him to raise
his cry, for almost all were awake and rolling from their bunks as he
lurched in at the door and glared round. The wind shrieked outside,
the cabin echoed more than ever like a steel drum, the screams and
groanings were infinitely louder. Candlass looked at his men to see
what fettle they were in, but he had already arrived at an opinion and
a computation regarding what men could be relied on in the event of
emergency.
"Come on!" said Mike, and led the way.
Scholar followed, Michael came next. It was very dark. They went
along on the windward side. All the cattle there had their broad
fronts against the making-fast board, their heads over it. The men
moved along, propped against the hoardings to leeward. The cattle on
that side were standing well back, leaning against each other, tails
against the backboards. As they manoeuvred forward a faint glow showed
to starboard, which had nothing to do with the scattered lamps that,
from the beams above, swung round and round in circles. One hatch (and
only one) was still uncovered, and down that the shrieking and roaring
song of the gale came. Mike poised along ahead like one walking on a
steep roof. Up soared the _Glory_, and down she plunged, and over she
rolled--farther over, trembling down. The cattle staggered; there was
a sound of clicking horns, there were sounds of things going slide and
crash all over, and still she rolled. She had a list on her beyond
anything that Mike had ever known. He hung on with his right hand; he
was under the hatch now, Scholar a pace or two behind, and both could
look up at the dark sky overhead showing purple before the beginning of
another day. It was then four o'clock. And as she hung over thus they
watched the stars rush wildly up the sky like soaring rockets, up and
over, and then up came the sea, following the soaring stars. It gave
them pause. So far over did she hang that, from where they held tight
upon the windward side, they could see clean through the hatch above,
and over its lee edge, right out to the junction of sky and sea (a
strip of awesome whiteness, or less whiteness than the colourless look
of a glass of water) beyond an unforgettable tremendous tossing waste
of a deep and velvety purple. And still she hung over, so that they
saw more and more of the sea. It seemed to be rushing at them with all
its great dark purple hollows, its purple hillsides, its snowy crests.
And in that moment Scholar averted his eyes from it and looked toward
Mike, and found Mike--hanging on--looking over his shoulder rearward.
Their eyes met. And Scholar believed that perhaps Mike was right in
his view of him that he had voiced the day before when the gale was
rising--believed that when it came to the "bit" he would not be found
wanting.
[Illustration: It seemed to be rushing at them with all its dark purple
hollows, its purple hillsides, its snowy crests.]
Then the stars that had rushed up came rushing down again, bringing the
sky with them, and it fitted over in place. The _Glory_ rolled and
pitched onward, still with something of a list, but no following roll
sent her so far over, and from no succeeding roll was she so slow to
rise again.